CHAPTER XXVIII.ONE DAY IN HAMPSTEAD.
Edith was very sweet and beautiful in her white cambric dress when she descended to the breakfast-room next morning, and took her seat at the table. Miss Rossiter was not present. She had not slept at all for thinking of poor Emily, she said, and was suffering from the combined effects of brandy and morphine and headache, and had her coffee in her room, and felt as if she was resenting something, she hardly knew what, and that if ever there was a martyr she was one now.
The young ladies, however, were all present, and looking very bright and cheerful as they bade Edith good-morning. Alice’s hair had gone down a story or two, and was arranged as nearly as possible like Mrs. Schuyler’s. Indeed, Miss Alice had risen a full hour earlier than her usual custom in order to try her talent for hair-dressing, and had succeeded so well that Godfrey, for whom the sacrifice was made, called her a nice little puss after all, and tolerably good-looking, too. And Alice felt complimented and thought Godfrey very handsome, and buttered his cakes for him and seemed altogether like a woman of twenty-five, who had been engaged for years.
“Well, girls, what are you going to do to pass the time between this and dinner?” Godfrey asked, as he rose from the table.
“I must go and see about the sewing I gave to Rogers, and you can go too and see your beauty if you like,” Alice said, and with a comical look Godfrey repeated:
“Rogers,—Rogers? Who is he?”
“Why, your tenant,—the woman who lives in your cottage. She is doing some work for me,” Alice replied, and Godfrey rejoined:
“Oh,oui, je vous comprends. It’s the height of good breeding to call your inferiors by their last names; so then,Creighton, let’s go and seeRogers!” and with a tremendous shake of his pants, Godfrey took his soft hat and bamboo cane from the hall rack, and started with Alice for the cottage.
It was Saturday, and as there was no school, Gertie was working in the garden with a big sun-hat tied under her chin, her hair falling down her back, her cheeks very red and her hands very much soiled with dirt. It was a bother to wear gloves, she thought, and she was tugging away at a tuft of pinks when she heard the gate, and looking up saw Alice and Godfrey coming up the walk. Quickly dropping her pinks she went forward to meet them, her eyes shining like stars as she said to Godfrey:
“Oh, Mr. Godfrey, I am so glad to see you. I did not know you had come. Excuse me from shaking hands. I can’t,you see;” and she held up her little soiled hands which looked white and pretty even with the dirt upon them.
“Upon my word, I never saw such assurance. Why, she acts as if she was fully his equal,” Alice thought, as with great dignity she asked:
“Is your mother in? I came to see her about the work I sent her last night.”
Mrs. Rogers was in, and while Miss Creighton gave her minute directions as to the precise number and size of the tucks and ruffles and puffs, Gertie entertained Godfrey outside by telling him all about herself since coming to Hampstead. She was going to school to Miss Armstrong, whom she liked so much, and she was studying French, and had caught up with the class already, and Miss Armstrong said her accent was very pure.
“You see I took lessons six months in London of a native, and that makes a difference,” she said; “and, oh, Mr. Godfrey, do you know where we can rent a piano, I want one so much so as to commence my music. You know I am to be a teacher like Miss Armstrong, and take care of auntie when she is old.”
Godfrey promised to make inquiries for a piano, and then suddenly recollecting himself, exclaimed:
“Why, there is that old one of mother’s at home, a rattle-trap of a thing, which all the Rossiters must have thrummed since the flood. You can have that if it will answer.”
Gertie did not think it would. She had no fancy for a “rattle-trap which all the dead Rossiters had thrummed;” she preferred an instrument which sounded decently, and she said so, and added:
“But we’ve nowhere to put one yet. Oh, Mr. Godfrey, what made anybody send that tall bedstead and bureau down here, where they won’t stand up in any of our sleeping-rooms? We had to put the bureau in the parlor, and the bedstead is still in the woodshed. I wish somebody would take it away. I think it is awful, so clumsy, and I fell over it this morning and hurt my foot.”
Godfrey laughed aloud, not at Gertie, but at what Miss Rossiterwould say could she hear this little plebeian denounce that bedstead as awful and clumsy, and wish it away even from the woodshed! Miss Rossiter had been greatly wounded on account of that bedstead; Miss Rossiter had cried because it was sent to the cottage; she had expressed a wish to have it for her own, and her wish should be gratified.
“It was absurd to send that tall furniture to these low rooms,” Godfrey said, “and I’ll see that it is taken away; to-day, perhaps. Did it hurt your foot very much?”
“Oh no, not much; it was this one,” and Gertie stuck up her little foot, which even in the half-worn boot looked so small and pretty that Godfrey felt a desire to squeeze it in his hand.
But Miss Creighton was coming out, and he straightened himself up and nibbled quite unconcernedly at the end of his cane, while Alice gave a few last directions with regard to her plain sewing.
“Good-by, Gertie,” Godfrey said. “I’ll send for the bedstead and inquire about the piano, and I have not used a single slang word this morning, have I? I shall be a perfect gentleman very soon, and then——” he kissed his hand to her, and looking back Alice saw a hot flush on the face of the child, who knew as well as Godfrey to what he alluded.
“What do you mean by being so familiar with such people?” Alice asked. “It cannot do them any good. On the contrary, it is a positive harm. Why, Rogers is so airy now I can hardly talk with her.”
“Allie, if you want me to like you, don’t be a fool,” Godfrey said, sharply. “I don’t wonder the woman was what you callairy, which means that she stood for her rights. I heard you call her ‘Rogers’ to her face. Now that is simply absurd for Americans. In England it is more common and means nothing; but here, where there is no aristocracy of blood, and the son of the hod-carrier may rise to be President, it is ridiculous, and savors wonderfully of snobbishness and parvenuism. If this woman has a handle to her name, give it to her, and not call her ‘Rogers.’ It is low, and not a bit ladylike, and you,as Alice Creighton, can certainly afford to be a lady without taking the trouble to impress others with your rank.”
Godfrey was very much in earnest, and Alice was crying, and so the walk home was a most uncomfortable one, until they reached the entrance to the grounds, where Godfrey stopped, and putting his hand playfully on his companion’s shoulder, said:
“Come, Allie, don’t let’s quarrel. You are a nice little thing and I like you first-rate, and want you to be a lady everywhere, and have a kind, courteous word for everybody; Mrs. Schuyler has, and she——”
“Mrs. Schuyler, indeed! As if I am to take her for a pattern, and she a governess!” Alice said hotly, as she walked rapidly on toward the house.
“Whe-w!” Godfrey whistled after her as he followed leisurely, wondering why girls need to make such confounded fools of themselves, and half wishing he had held his tongue and not tried to lecture Alice.
As he drew near the house he saw John, the coachman, bringing up the pony phaeton, and asked who was going out.
“Miss Rossiter is going up to the Ridge House after lunch, and wants to drive herself,” said John, and Godfrey thought within himself:
“That’s just the thing, and gives me a chance to surprise her. Won’t it be a capital joke?”
Entering the house he went in quest of his aunt, who was dressed and feeling much better.
“Mrs. Barton has asked me to come over there some day, and I believe I’ll go this afternoon. Home does not seem like home now,” she said, with a sigh, which Godfrey knew had reference to the graceful figure walking on the terrace in front of the window, and so did not respond at once.
When he did speak, he said:
“By the way, auntie, were you really in earnest about that bedstead?”
“What bedstead?” Miss Rossiter asked quickly, and then recollecting herself, she added: “Certainly I was. It hurt mecruelly to see it leave the house when Emily thought so much of it. But then I must get accustomed to things of that kind, I suppose. New lords, new laws, and new things.”
Her manner was the manner of one who has been wounded and thwarted at every point, and Godfrey was strengthened in his resolve, and within half an hour after she had driven away in her pony phaeton he had interviewed both Mrs. Tiffe and Perry, and was riding with John in the long democratic wagon down the road toward the cottage. Mrs. Rogers and Gertie were both in the garden this time, but when Godfrey explained his errand, the former, who was glad to be rid of the cumbrous piece of furniture, went in with John, while Godfrey remained outside with Gertie.
“You must be very fond of gardening,” he said, and Gertie replied:
“Yes, I am; I like it ever so much. Have you seenthe gravesince you came home?”
“Grave! Whose grave?” Godfrey asked, and she replied:
“Mr. Lyle’s, the man who saved your life. Miss Armstrong told me all about it, and I felt so glad you were not killed, and so sorry for him and the young girl who liked him. She used to live here in this very house, and Miss Armstrong promised her, when she went away, to keep the grave up nice till she came back, and for a while she did, but the girl didn’t come, and Miss Armstrong got to forgetting it, you know, and when she told me about it, it was just awful with weeds and tangled grass. But it looks like a flower-bed now. I thought maybe you would be glad.”
Her bright, eager eyes were fixed upon him for his approval, which he gave unqualifiedly.
“He was glad, and to-morrow, after dinner, he would go and see it,” he said; and then as his services were needed for the heavy bureau, he lifted his hat to Gertie, and walked away.
“For pity’s sake, what are you doing?” Julia asked of Godfrey, when, after her nap and toilet, she came from her room and found the rear of the hall blockaded with furniture, andmattress, and bed-clothes, and Godfrey, very red in the face as he assisted Mrs. Tiffe, who was also anxious and excited.
“Cooking some ‘potted sprats’ I guess, though I’m not quite sure,” was Godfrey’s reply; and when Julia, who was not very conversant with Mrs. Opie, demanded what he meant, he explained that as Aunt Christine was so grieved about the things sent to the cottage, and expressed herself as so desirous to have them back, especially the bedstead, he had decided to give her a pleasant surprise on her return that night from the Ridge. “Won’t she be delighted though!” And Godfrey’s face was very expressive as he tugged away at the heavy furniture. “There, she is sure to like that,” he said, when at last his work was finished, and the old fashioned, massive bedstead stood in the place the lighter one of oak had occupied, while the bureau was pushed into a corner as the only available spot.
“I am glad you are so well satisfied,” Julia said; “but I doubt if you get any thanks for your trouble. Auntie will never sleep a night on that bedstead; she is the biggest coward in the world.”
“Then I’ll take it down Monday. Anyway, she cannot say I have not tried to please her,” was Godfrey’s reply, as he walked away, whistling cheerily, and wondering why women were so queer, and always went back on a fellow when he was doing his best.
Meantime Alice had had her pet out in a good cry, which made her nose very red, and did not add at all to the beauty of her face when she came down to dinner, gracious and smiling, and ready to forgive Godfrey, if he wished to be forgiven. But he gave no sign that he did, though he was very polite to her, and peeled her orange, and gave her his bunch of Malaga grapes, because he knew she had a weakness for them, and asked her slyly how she had burned her nose so badly, and suggested a verysmallpoultice of flaxseed when she went to bed at night! And Alice laughed, and thought him altogether charming and delightful.
“I mean to show him that I am improving in what he calls snobbishness,” she thought, and after dinner was over, she said to him in her most insinuating voice:
“Godfrey, I want to seeMrs.Rogers again. I’ve changed my mind about the tucks. I heard you say you were going to the village, and would you mind walking round that way for me when you come home?”
“Certainly not. I am pleased to go toMrs.Rogers’ at any time,” he answered, with an emphasis on the Mrs., which showed that he had taken note of the change.
“Pleased to go there at any time! I do believe it, and I wonder if he can be so much interested in that child,” Alice thought, as she walked slowly toward the cottage.
She was not jealous. Gertie was too young and too obscure for that; but she was annoyed with Godfrey’s evident admiration for the “yellow-haired girl.” And still, if she would please him as she really wished to do, she must be interested, too, and after she was through with Mrs. Rogers she went out to Gertie, and, wishing to say something to her, asked abruptly if she had ever been confirmed? Alice always felt more seriously inclined on Saturday afternoons than on any other week day. It was near to Sunday, and became one who taught in the Mission school, and gave all sorts of good advice to sundry forlorn, ragged little wretches, among whom Godfrey Schuyler and Schuyler Godfrey and Alice Creighton Vandeusenhisen figured conspicuously. Alice would never have taught in the regular Sunday-school, where she was liable to come in contact with persons who might lay claim to her notice socially. She preferred the Mission school, where she was looked upon as something far above the common order of mortals, and here she was very zealous, and very devout, and very good, and sometimes took Alice Creighton Vandeusenhisen in her lap, and let Tommie Trotter stroke her silk dress with his dirty hands, and once she actually kissed a little girl who brought her a bouquet. To these children, and such as these, she and the Misses Schuyler, who taught there also, were kind of divinities, as was proven by an incident which occurred just before the arrival of Edith at the Hill. There was a new rector at St. Luke’s,—a young man fresh from old Trinity in New York,—and he went one Sunday to catechise the little ones at the Mission.
“Now boys,” he said to the row of eager faces confronting him so eagerly, “speak up loud and tell me who made the world?”
Instantly Tommie Trotter, with the three Vandeusenhisens, screamed lustily:
“Miss Alice Creighton, sir!” and were answered from a rival crowd:
“Miss Julia Schuyler, sir!” while one faint little voice brought up the rear with:
“I tell you, Tom Trotter, she didn’t. ’Twas Miss Emma, sir!”
After that Alice and Julia esteemed themselves as saints, and were more zealous than ever to gather in any stray lambs which had no particular fold. Hence the reason for Alice’s attack on Gertie, whom she startled with the question:
“Have you ever been confirmed?”
Gertie had not, and did not particularly care to be just yet, she said; and Alice was as much shocked and surprised as if the child had been convicted of a crime.
“Not wish to be confirmed and be good! How shocking!” she exclaimed.
And Gertie replied:
“I did not say I did not wish to be good, for I do; but I don’t want to be confirmed until I am older and understand it better.”
“Who is your teacher in Sunday-school?” Alice asked next, with a good deal of severity.
“I don’t go to Sunday-school. I get my lesson at home, and recite it with the Collect and the Commandments to Auntie,” Gertie said, while Miss Creighton grew more and more amazed.
“Not go to Sunday-school! I did not suppose there was any one in this town so heathenish as that! Child, you must go, and, if you do not care to join the school at church, come to the Mission to-morrow at four o’clock. You will find me there, and the Misses Schuyler and several other ladies. Will you come?”
Gertie hesitated a moment, and then asked:
“Has Mr. Godfrey a class?”
“Mr. Godfrey a class! Certainly not. Can’t you go unless he is there?” Alice said, sharply, conscious of a sudden feeling, which, had Gertie been her equal, would have been jealousy.
Ere Gertie could reply, there was the sound of a low chuckle in the direction of the street, and, looking round, Alice saw Godfrey leaning over the gate with a most comical expression on his face.
He had heard nearly all the conversation, and said to Alice:
“Beating up recruits for the Mission school, are you, Alice? Don’t you go there, Gertie. You are too big and too good-looking, and the room smells awful. She got me down there once, and made me hear a class, and the little imps swapped jack-knives, and fought each other, and called me ‘old Schuyler’ behind my back, and wondered what business I had trying to teach the Commandments. No, Gertie, go to the other school if you must go somewhere, and I suppose you must, or lose caste with this young lady. Why, she’s as zealous as the Pope himself with regard to her church and her school. But come, Allie, it is time to go.”
And, opening the gate, he held it, while with a barely civil nod to Gertie, Miss Creighton passed out into the street, and, taking Godfrey’s offered arm, walked away, leaving Gertie to look after her and wonder if Mr. Godfrey liked her and meant to marry her some day, and if it was wrong not to be confirmed when she was only twelve years old, and heathenish not to go to Sunday-school when she did not wish to, and could say her lesson at home.
Miss Rossiter had spent a very pleasant afternoon with her friend Mrs. Barton, at the Ridge House, and enjoyed herself famously in talking of the bride, whom she never could like, she said, even though she must confess that her personal appearance was in her favor.
“That was all a hoax about her being lame and old. Godfrey wrote it to tease us,” she said. “She cannot be more than thirty-five, and really has some claim to good looks, whileher manners are not bad. But she is an adventuress,—a poor governess, and nothing more; and she has taken dear Emily’s place, and everything must give way to her, and our pleasant home is broken up forever. And Miss Rossiter cried a little as she told of the furniture, which had been sent from the house as not good enough for “my lady,” when I would have liked it so much for the memories clustering about it,—the very bed poor Emily died on, and I saw her, too!”
Miss Rossiter sobbed aloud, while Mrs. Barton tried to comfort her, and said it was hard, and that, if it would be any comfort to her dear friend, she would not call upon the intruder, or let her daughter Rosamond call either.
That would be some consolation, for Mrs. Grey Barton, of the Ridge House, was a sort of queen in the neighborhood since Lady Emily died, and a slight from her was sure to be felt; so Miss Rossiter allowed herself to be comforted, and, after dinner, drove herself home in the soft, autumnal twilight.
Edith was standing on the piazza when she came up the steps, and asked if she had spent a pleasant day.
“Yes, it is always pleasant at the Ridge. Mrs. Barton is considered the first lady in the town,” Miss Rossiter replied, as she swept proudly up the stairs, feeling that by enlightening Edith with regard to Mrs. Barton’s standing she was preparing her to feel the slight about to be offered her.
It was not light enough in her room for her to see anything distinctly when she entered it, and she laid aside her hat and shawl and turned up the gas before she observed the change. Then she started and looked again, and rubbed her eyes, and wondered if she were threatened with softening of the brain, as she had sometimes feared, and saw things which existed only in her imagination. No, there was no fancy here. The airy, graceful bedstead of oak and black walnut, which she had left there that morning, was gone, and in its place loomed the huge, old-fashioned thing, on which she would not sleep for the world. For a moment she stood, wondering what she should do.
“Hallo, auntie, what’s the matter? Don’t you like it? You are white as a sheet,” came cheerily from Godfrey, whowas sauntering down the hall “You see I thought I’d surprise you, and I worked like a beaver to get it set up. It’s all right, I hope.”
“Yes, Godfrey, yes,” Miss Rossiter gasped. “It was kind in you, but—but——”
“But what, auntie? It is not apotted sprat, I hope. You told me that story, you know, and illustrated it, too, when I didn’t want to go to school, and said I was sick, and you made me lie in bed all day and take those nasty squills. Don’t you really want it in there?”
“No, Godfrey. I thought I did, but I guess I don’t. I’m silly, and nervous, and all unstrung with trouble, and I can see my poor sister so plain. You know she died on it. I should not sleep a wink, and I—I—oh, Godfrey,—oh, Godfrey,—take it away, do, please, there is a good boy!”
She was crying a little and trembling a great deal, and as Godfrey never could resist tears, he promised readily, and passing his arm playfully around her waist, drew her into the room, and said:
“All right, let’s go at it now. You ring the bell and I’ll pull it to pieces.”
It did not take long to undo the work of the morning, and the obnoxious bedstead, which nobody seemed to want, was soon stored away in the attic, while, with the help of a little morphine and an electric shock heavier than usual, Miss Rossiter slept tolerably well that night, and dreamed of eating all the “potted sprats” served up in Mrs. Opie’s “white lies.”